


The Seduction of Jimmy Wilson

by fauxpocky (alisso)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Blow Jobs, Couch Sex, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Scientific Method, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-27
Updated: 2006-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:12:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisso/pseuds/fauxpocky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House has a theory, and he's going to test it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Seduction of Jimmy Wilson

**Author's Note:**

> Contains vague references to Love Hurts (S1, E20) and shameless abuse of the scientific method. My first attempt at the House pov from way back in 2006.

House had a theory.

This wasn't an unusual event. He often had theories, and after piecing together the evidence, his logical deductions would be proved correct. Eventually. Still, always being right eventually was better than only being right sometimes.

As a change of pace, today's theory wasn't medical. They weren't, always. There was a certain fascination in studying human behaviour, it just failed, usually, to hold his attention as long as diseases could. People were predictable, boring, and not worth the trouble unless he was trying to work out exactly how they'd lied to him and how it changed the way he had to look at the evidence of their symptoms.

There were...exceptions, however. And James Wilson, boy wonder oncologist and curiously flawed human being, was one of them.

Really, that went without saying. Or it should. Part of Wilson's appeal, to House, was his endlessly fascinating mixture of morality and flaws. Of course, it helped that Wilson was also astonishingly tolerant of his own set of interesting flaws. But his reasons for such tolerance had always escaped House, and things he didn't know niggled at him.

That, therefore, was why he had this particular theory.

He'd invested a great deal of time and effort in the observation of this particular subject, even going so far as to apply various stimuli in order to measure the responses. And he didn't like to admit how much time he'd put into consideration of the results of his observations.

But finally, he had the beginnings of quite a plausible and workable theory.

Clearly, Wilson was in love with him. He just didn't know it yet.

It wasn't as though the idea hadn't crossed his mind in the past, he just hadn't been prepared to entertain it as a possibility without copious observational evidence and logic to back it up. It was, however, quite a persistent theory. Quite elegant, when examined as a whole.

It all fitted, it made sense. Now he just had to get proof, and deal with the last few potential anomalies that might contradict his theory.

His preferred method for confirming a theory usually involved administering the cure and seeing if it worked, but, at times, he was prepared to accept that a little testing was advisable before commencing treatment. This was probably one of them.

Besides, the whole theory was dependant on a few lesser hypotheses, so it was probably a good idea to confirm them, first.

*****

**The Seduction of Jimmy Wilson - An Experiment**

**Theory -** That James Wilson is in love with me, Greg House, but in denial about it.  
 **Aim -** To verify the accuracy of this theory.

In order to prove this theory I need to prove three points.

1 - James Wilson Is ~~Gay~~ Insufficiently Straight  
2 - James Wilson Cares About Me  
3 - James Wilson is Attracted to Me

**Methodology**

I intend to test each hypothesis under carefully controlled conditions and observe and document the results to see if they confirm said hypothesis.  
Assuming all three are proved correct, steps can be taken to provide final confirmation.

*****

Hypothesis the First  
     - James Wilson Is Insufficiently Straight

There were days when Robert Chase wondered why the hell he put up with his clearly insane employer. He could cope with the abuse, the strange cases, the bizarre orders and mad tasks, the complete insensitivity to the feelings of staff and patients alike, the disparaging of any and all suggestions he and his fellow fellows made, even the routine assumption that Chase himself was, and he shuddered to think it, British. All these things had rhyme and reason, some degree of logic, and always made some sense in the long run. Even if the logic was just "House is being House".

It was when things stopped making any sense whatsoever that he started to worry.

He assumed that he couldn't quit on the grounds that his boss had asked if he agreed with Cuddy that this blue shirt made him look nice, and with Wilson that this tie went with it. Abuse he could live with, but requests for fashion advice?

Actually, trying to quit over this would create too much fuss, he decided, and he'd prefer it if it were never mentioned again. If he could wipe the incident from his memory, too, he'd be even happier.

***

House ticked off another point on his mental list. It wasn't exactly conclusive evidence, but every little bit helped. Wilson's opinion on the right tie to go with the blue shirt had been suspicious on its own, put it together with the fact that Chase agreed, and it was far more damning.

Sure, Chase wasn't exactly gay - there'd been that thing with Cameron, after all - but he was pretty sure Chase counted as "insufficiently straight" (or the Cameron thing would have continued, and he would have been spared). Or he was just Australian. The country that produced a road trip movie about three drag queens in a big pink bus probably had a lot to answer for when it came to Chase.

In any case, it was more evidence, but not enough. He had a lot of evidence, just no proof. Despite all the research he'd been doing on the internet, he hadn't been able to find any one thing to look for that would prove that Wilson wasn't straight. He matched a lot of points, but none of them were anything like incontrovertible or unique to the gay community. Apart from, possibly, the sex with men thing and so far there didn't seem to be a subtle test for that.

He had learnt a lot from his research, though, so it hadn't been a total loss.

**Hypothesis the First -** Unconfirmed but likely.

*****

Hypothesis the Second  
     - James Wilson Cares About Me

This was an important one. House knew that he had a lot of pretty strong evidence already, but without proof that Wilson cared, his theory wasn't going to hold water.

With that in mind, he'd made his plans with precision. He needed to push enough to be able to trust the test results, but not so much that he seriously pissed Wilson off and alienated him.

It was a fine line. This was why he'd started by pissing off his fellows.

***

It was something of a revelation for Cameron when she realised she genuinely wasn't interested in House anymore (and he went back to being "House", not Greg, the minute she realised). The day had not gone well from the start, but by now she was resigned to tolerating his irascible nature, patiently awaiting the day that he finally turned to her for comfort and realised how loyal and helpful she'd always been.

She'd been trying hard to make things easier for him - his leg was giving him more trouble than usual, it seemed - she'd tried distractions, interesting cases, getting his work done for him, she'd even volunteered to do his clinic hours. But there she'd been disappointed, having to go back and tell him that Dr Wilson had beaten her to it.

She hadn't actually been sure then how Dr Wilson had known he was having a bad day, or why he'd taken the clinic hours. The two men had only seen each other for a moment or two so far that day.

***

So far, so good - House could tick off quite a few points towards his second hypothesis. A carefully timed and overdone grimace of pain - while Wilson was watching but while he didn't look like he _knew_ Wilson was watching - and a complete lack of response to a perfect set-up for a snarky comment had been enough to send Wilson to the clinic to cover his hours through the morning. Cameron had tried to distract him, and even volunteered to do the clinic hours - which was how he knew Wilson had already done them - and once word of her attempt and his escalating bad mood reached Wilson, he appeared, reliable as ever, to try to distract him. Anything to prevent him leaning too heavily on the drugs, of course.

For once, however, Wilson's normally excellent distraction skills weren't going to work.

"Enjoying your holiday? I think Cameron is going to expect you to marry her if you keep her this busy on a regular basis."

No, he wasn't going to give in and look like he was enjoying himself, not even when Wilson handed him a line like _that_. Clearly, the man knew him too well. But this experiment was important. In the name of science. Or some shit like that.

***

The actual revelation didn't strike Cameron till the end of the day. She'd fielded calls, kept Cuddy at bay and found something for Chase and Foreman to do that didn't suck (it had been oddly easy to get Chase to go off and do other things, he kept muttering something about fashion advice for some reason). She'd generally run around like a mad thing to give him some time alone, once she'd realised that distraction wasn't going to work and Dr Wilson had trumped her with the clinic hours thing anyway.

In fact, the moment of awareness was entirely Dr Wilson's fault.

She'd walked into the diagnostics meeting room, thinking she'd do a little tidying - not checking on Greg, no, not at all - when she realised Dr Wilson had finished in the clinic and was in Greg's office, talking to him. She'd given way to a smug little smirk when she saw it wasn't doing him any more good than it had done her. 

Almost as soon as she did, she'd felt justly punished for her moment of triumph. Greg was laughing. It was a weak, tired laugh, but a laugh all the same. He hadn't cracked even half a smile all day, no matter how much abuse he'd laid out. But Wilson was making him laugh.

She was familiar, by now, with the sensation of a wave of jealousy crashing against her, and she didn't even blink when it struck.

She did, however, blink a _lot_ when she saw what happened next.

A look of compassion swept over Wilson's face at whatever Greg had just said, and he put a tentative hand on Greg's knee. And House, let him.

That was when she realised, not only that she really, really didn't ever have a chance, but _why_ she didn't.

She left quietly, with only a quick but longing glance behind her in case they were fast movers (unlikely, they'd known each other so long, but then, after so long, a realisation like this could be like a dam bursting), and she might get to catch them doing something...interesting.

She also made a mental note to take a leaf out of House's book, and quit knocking before walking into rooms. Just in case they got indiscreet at the hospital.

***

He hadn't meant to cave so quickly, but when Wilson had resorted to a detailed description of just how twisted Cuddy's knickers had apparently gotten when she had two people volunteering to do his clinic hours today, he hadn't been able to resist laughing. He thought he'd covered it pretty well, kept it low-key and tired.

He wasn't tired, though, he was excited. Things were going to plan. Wilson had even reached out and put a hand on his knee, and that meant he was really worried. Even though he'd been snarky, and almost cruel, from the moment he'd walked in the door. If he hadn't cared, he would have walked away before then. Instead, he stayed to make him laugh, and to offer compassion. That meant that Wilson thought he _could_ offer him compassion without being brushed off. That said a lot about what Wilson thought of him.

He did his best not to let on how nice that made him feel. Or how warm the hand on his knee had been.

**Hypothesis the Second -** Confirmed without doubt.

*****

Hypothesis the Third  
     - James Wilson is Attracted to Me

Time for the big guns, he decided.

Carefully looking at the floor, out the window, anywhere but Wilson's face, he took a deep breath, and released it, sounding as resigned and miserable as he could.

"Could...could you help me get home?"

He wasn't looking at Wilson, but he _felt_ the moment of shock. Greg House did not ask for help getting around. Not while he could still drag himself across the floor with his elbows. They both knew it, and that was what made it completely impossible for Wilson to say no. He could have had a terminal patient outside waiting to be told the results of the "is it in remission?" test, and he would have re-scheduled and helped House.

"Do you..." he heard Wilson swallow, he was clearly worried, "do you need a lift, or..." oh yes, he was going to make him say it.

"I think I probably need help getting out of the chair, to be honest," he let it out with another sigh, trying to sound like he hated every word as it left his mouth.

"And you'd never lie," good old Wilson, bantering at a moment like this.

He looked up into deeply concerned, warm brown eyes, and something in the pit of his stomach did something that resembled a backflip. But he pushed it aside and took the proffered arm to drag himself out of the chair. Once he was on his feet, he leant heavily on his friend. Rather than immediately shift so he stood beside Wilson, arm around his shoulder so he could lean on him instead of the cane, he stayed where he was for a moment, leaning on his shoulder, with his body resting against Wilson's side. He let his head hang, and his eyes were inches from that floppy wave of brown hair. He sighed again and breathed out all over the bare skin of Wilson's neck, watching goosebumps rise as he did.

He didn't smirk when he felt Wilson twitch, but he felt very smug.

Shifting around, he leant on his friend, picked up his bag with the handle of his cane, and tried to move both items into the hand on the end of the arm wrapped around Wilson. Who took them away from him before he could succeed, and slung an arm around his waist to keep him balanced.

"We look like the world's worst three legged race team." He ignored the fact that he was snarking to cover his own reaction to Wilson's hand against his side, and tried to pay attention to the reactions he was supposed to be testing. Which weren't his own.

"But everyone's gone, so we don't have anyone to race against." He had to hand it to Wilson, he could even manage a light-hearted way to reassure him that no one would have to witness his humiliation on the way to the car park.

He'd planned it that way, of course, but it was nice of Wilson to be reassuring.

They made their way to the door, slowly and with difficulty. Even though his leg didn't hurt as much as he was claiming, trying to walk leaning on Wilson was a very different process to his usual cane-assisted gait. Not that he was going to complain. One of the key benefits of this plan was that it would take quite some time to get to Wilson's car, giving him plenty of time to make his observations.

And to test Wilson as often as possible, of course. To that end, he paused just outside his own office door, breathing heavily and jerkily as though he were in pain. He turned to face Wilson, who automatically moved his other arm to better support the additional weight as House leaned forward and slumped against him.

When he felt Wilson's (ragged, he noticed) breath on the back of his neck, he wondered again if he might not have miscalculated a little. He wasn't expecting to feel his own skin rising into goosebumps. And the shiver he had to mask with a false shudder of pain was more than a bit of a shock.

Probably best to keep moving then.

They made it to the elevator without too much further trouble. After Wilson freed a hand to press the call button, he turned House and made him lean solidly on his shoulders again.

"I'm too heavy, I'll hurt you." The protest was muttered, feeble and without conviction, exactly as he intended it to be. But Wilson just braced his feet carefully and stood rock-solid. Except for those arms, back around his waist, which were light and innocent...and his hands. Which, House couldn't help notice, were ever so gently stroking the small of his back.

He wasn't sure if that could be interpreted as a purely friendly gesture or not, but he chose to take it as further evidence in favour of his hypothesis.

When the elevator arrived with a cheerful ding, his head was so low it was almost resting on his hand on Wilson's shoulder. He was flexing his fingers, ostensibly to settle his grip, but the way Wilson's breathing changed when he did it was terribly satisfying. Just like the way Wilson's jaw muscles were tensing and relaxing suddenly, right before his eyes, and the way his breath hitched in his throat when House let his nose brush against an ear.

"Dr House, Dr Wilson!"

He did NOT expect to hear Foreman's voice right at that moment.

***

When Eric remembered he'd left the files he needed to review in the diagnostics meeting room, he was halfway home, and nearly didn't bother going back for them. Now, as the elevator opened on one of the single strangest sights he'd seen in his entire life - and he'd been working with House for quite a while now, so that was saying something - he was really wishing he'd just gone straight home.

House and Wilson were standing in front of the elevator doors, holding each other tightly. Wilson's eyes were closed, and the expression on his face made Eric blush a little at having caught such a deeply personal and intimate glimpse of his feelings. House was leaning heavily on him, his face practically buried in his shoulder.

"Dr House, Dr Wilson!"

They broke apart the instant he spoke, and House wavered, unbalanced without his constant companion in his hand, but Wilson had grabbed him and steadied him before anyone really knew what had happened.

"I, ah, came back for some files. In the meeting room." He paused, awkward, and moved to pass them. "Excuse me."

"We, er, we could hold the elevator till you get back?" Wilson offered.

Foreman turned to look back, shaking his head, eyes wide, about to make some polite excuse why that wasn't necessary, but House beat him to it.

"No we can't!"

"I'll, ah, wait for the next one."

***

House's arm grabbed Wilson's sleeve, and he leant precariously towards the open elevator door, forcing Wilson to step forwards and hold him before he fell over.

"We could have waited, you know." Wilson's voice wasn't the slightest bit critical, despite his words, so House went back to leaning on him, this time allowing the wall to do some of the work too. "Or maybe we couldn't." House nearly let the smile escape this time as Wilson took in his slumped figure and the worry came back into his tone. "It's that bad?"

"The sooner we get to your car, the better." He felt a bit guilty for making Wilson worry that little bit more, but that really wasn't a lie. He had his evidence. As he mumbled against Wilson's skin and watched a blush making its way up Wilson's throat, he knew he had his evidence. As he felt a shiver scale his own spine at the gentle touch of a hand on his arm, he thought he probably had more evidence than he'd expected. Now he wanted to get home and see what he could do with his brand new, almost completely verified theory.

Not to mention some of that research from the internet.

**Hypothesis the Third -** Well and truly verified.

*****

Conclusions

The silence in the car might have been awkward, under normal circumstances. But then, these were hardly normal circumstances.

House was trying to look like he was on the verge of unconsciousness, and in a lot of pain, but he was having difficulty staying still. That might have worked in his favour - he could never sit still when his leg was bothering him - except that it wasn't jerky shifting he was trying to control, it was a somewhat worrisome urge to risk death and dismemberment by jumping Wilson while he was driving.

He wasn't completely certain at what point this whole procedure had gone from an experiment to trap Wilson into admitting that he was in love with him, to a genuine seduction attempt. In a way, he felt like his whole plan had backfired. He was supposed to be proving his points about how Wilson felt about him, not discovering that he felt the same way about Wilson.

Mind you, he wasn't really going to complain about it, as long as his initial supposition was proved once and for all. He liked being right. And he was really going to _enjoy_ being right about this one.

He noted with interest that Wilson was driving very smoothly...considerate of him. It would be very rude to disrupt his careful driving by, say, placing his hand somewhere inappropriate.

They pulled up outside his place just as smoothly, but he stayed where he was. He had every intention of making Wilson manhandle him out of the car and into the apartment. As Wilson got out of the car and came around to the passenger side door, House mused pleasurably for a few moments on the multiple uses of the word "manhandle".

Then the door was open and Wilson was gently urging him to wake up so they could go inside. With a little help, he was on his feet standing beside his friend, and he happily sprawled all over him now, rather than just leaning. He decided that exhaustion was enough of an excuse for the additional weakness. But Wilson just slipped a careful arm around him and guided him into the apartment. He actually left his car wide open while he manoeuvred House onto the couch, before dashing quickly outside to lock up.

Lying across the leather of the couch, House pondered his next move. He knew what Wilson was like, he knew how he responded to needy cases. He was prepared to bet he was already going to offer to cook for him, and probably try to help him get to bed. That would seem to be the ideal moment to take the last step.

Let Wilson lead him into the bedroom, perhaps get some help getting changed, or at least stripping down to boxers, and then dragging him onto the bed for some seriously heavy petting. A few husky-voiced confessions and they'd be there all night. For some reason, the idea of waking up to see Wilson dishevelled in his bed was incredibly appealing.

Then Wilson came back inside, shutting the front door and turning, hands on hips, to look him over with an expression of concern and a little exasperation (as always), and a strangely deep affection, and House changed his mind. He wasn't going to wait that long.

"You should eat something, if you've got anything in the kitchen that's worth eating." Tick number one, Wilson was offering food. Time to press on to tick number two. Bed.

"M'not hungry."

"You should try to eat something...I could make those pancakes you liked?" Was that a wheedling tone in his voice? Of course.

"No, I...could you sit, with me, for a while?"

It took a lot of willpower to turn down those pancakes, but House had a feeling he could find a better use for the syrup later on.

Then, too, the look of surprise and wariness on Wilson's face when he did was worth something. As was the fact that he did indeed sit down on the empty part of the lounge House was lying on. There wasn't a lot of room down there with House's legs taking up plenty of cushion space, but once Wilson was sitting, he shifted one leg so his foot was underneath the arch of Wilson's knees, meaning he could trip him up with a quick twist if he tried to move any time soon. With the other foot moving onto Wilson's lap, he was effectively pinning him to the couch.

Even though his leg wasn't as sore as he was pretending, it was still an effort to get upright from his sprawled position, and he grunted in pain as he did. Instantly, Wilson had a hand on his chest, trying to restrain him, protesting the move.

"Greg, no, you shouldn't sit up, relax for a bit, okay?"

He ignored him, and sat up anyway, staring into those deep brown eyes for a few heart-stopping moments before looking down at the hand that was still against his chest. He looked back up at Wilson and a slow smile began to spread across his face.

"You're awfully concerned about my well-being, Dr Wilson."

"Greg? What..."

"Now I wonder why that could be?" He spoke lightly, with only a hint of the pained tone that he'd been using earlier. He wanted Wilson off-balance, uncertain, but he didn't want him hung up over the leg thing. He didn't want him cranky because House had basically been lying to him about it all day, either. Perhaps he'd just have to distract him from that.

"Greg..." the tone in Wilson's voice mixed warning and concern. And more than a little confusion. Perfect.

He leant forward, holding Wilson's gaze with his own, getting closer and closer. It wasn't till he was a mere few inches away from his face that Wilson seemed to realise how strange this all was. He went to move back, but there wasn't really anywhere to go.

"It wouldn't be because you like me, would it?" House flashed a quick grin before going back to the smouldering smile. He'd been practicing it in the mirror especially.

Wilson looked almost dazed. House savoured the moment. This close, he could count every eyelash, every hair in those absurdly thick eyebrows. He noted that Wilson's cheeks were flushed, his mouth was open, and he was blinking an awful lot all of a sudden. Better give him something to go all blinky about, then.

He closed the small gap that remained between them, and let his lips brush against Wilson's. He heard the gasping intake of breath immediately after the brief contact and smiled again, leaning back in for another, deeper kiss.

"Greg!" Another gasp.

"You keep saying my name, was there something else you'd like to tell me or are you just trying to get my attention?" He knew he was being evil, but this was far too much fun to stop now.

This time when he kissed Wilson, Wilson kissed back, and oh boy, now things were progressing. There was hunger in the kiss, an urge to devour, to be devoured. Wilson was leaning forward now, pressing against him, his hand still trapped between them, his fingers tightening spasmodically in the fabric of House's shirt. He let his own hand slip up to the back of Wilson's neck, stroking the skin and burying his fingers in the soft hair, which triggered a moan that tasted sweeter than even the pancakes would have.

Oh yeah, this was working. This must be all that repressed lust coming out all at once. House tried to smirk, but found it very difficult with Wilson's tongue in the way. He settled for a knowing quirk of the eyebrow and started to lie down again, using the hand on the back of his neck to pull Wilson down with him.

He liked this part. The weight of Wilson's body pressing down on his was firm, solid, but not uncomfortable. And Wilson had shifted as he'd been dragged down, ending up with his knees on the couch between House's splayed thighs. A strangled noise had happened somewhere down in his throat when Wilson wriggled and he'd felt thighs pressing against his groin. He slid his hands up Wilson's back, or tried to. The tucked-in shirt was getting in the way, so he dragged it untucked and let his hands run across bare skin, enjoying the way Wilson arched as he did, creating more pressure just where he wanted it.

And all the while, they kept kissing. He could definitely get used to this.

He considered himself to have quite a good grasp of the English language, and a reasonable working vocabulary in several other languages. And he knew for a fact that he had the most all-encompassing range of general knowledge, not to mention medical knowledge, of anyone in his acquaintance. But he lacked the words or concepts in any language or from any field to describe just how good it felt to kiss James Wilson. Who was, he had to admit, extremely good at this. There was this thing he did with his tongue that defied rational explanation and, quite possibly, a few laws of physics. Not to mention morality laws in several states.

It puzzled him that someone like himself, a doctor, someone who'd spent years studying the way the human body was put together, could find himself so deeply engrossed in the simple act of tracing the curve of a spine. For once, his mind wasn't on finding abnormalities or looking for the best spot for a lumbar puncture, he was just running his fingers along that line, enjoying the basic tactile sensation of smooth skin under his fingers. And the funny little noises Wilson was making while he did it, of course.

House's brain was not inclined to shut up, even in moments like this. Which, he decided, was a really irritating propensity. He wanted to let go, give in, and just get carried away with Wilson's soft lips, his smooth skin, learning the lines of his body and those _really_ intriguing little noises he made.

Since his brain wasn't going to disengage, he decided to put it to good use. When they broke apart for a moment to breathe, he bent his head and let his lips make their way up Wilson's throat, heading for his ear. This put Wilson's mouth beside his own ear, and the panting, gasping breaths were doing strange things to his heart rate. Over the sounds of Wilson's breathing, he began to whisper, right into his ear.

"Still think I should eat something?"

He heard Wilson snort with laughter, and then his harsh intake of breath as House's hands, which had taken advantage of Wilson's distraction, reached their destination, pressing firmly against his arse. As House arched up to provide pressure on both sides, he was aware of a new weight against his stomach. If his mouth hadn't been occupied with Wilson's tongue again, he would have grinned at this fresh evidence in favour of his theory.

When they broke apart again, Wilson's breath was coming short and sharp, hot and damp panting into his ear. This was another sound he could learn to love, he decided.

He slid his right hand between their bodies, seeking the source of the pressure against his stomach. A gentle squeeze earnt him a moan that fought its way through gritted teeth, before Wilson's mouth latched onto the pulse point in his throat. He made a contented little noise before pressing more firmly and having the satisfaction of watching Wilson positively writhe against him.

Being proved right was always intoxicating, a heady rush, and this instance was particularly sweet. His left hand swept possessively over the planes of his friend's body, while his right remained occupied where it was. Vindicated and smug, he leant forward again to whisper softly, smirking all the while.

"I _knew_ you couldn't resist my charms."

House hadn't really expected to hear Wilson start laughing at this point. Or to see him push himself up so he was on his hands and knees over House's supine body.

"You ass! I've been waiting for you to wake up to yourself for _months_! You knew I couldn't resist you? I resisted just fine while I waited for you to work this all out and quit groping me in the elevator and make your move!"

Wilson was grinning down as House stared up in shock. Had he really been blind to this for months? Was he really...then Wilson was kissing him soundly, hands busy at the waistband of his pants, and moving around, and when they broke the kiss, Wilson was on his knees beside the couch, still grinning in that disconcerting fashion, and House only had time to register the thought that his cock had been exposed surprisingly quickly and with disturbing expertise before Wilson's mouth had wrapped around him and House's brain, finally, mercifully, shut up and got on with just feeling.

Words and thoughts failed him, and his back arched convulsively. His hands clenched into fists, gripping at the couch beneath him.

Later, when rational thought returned, he might wonder about the talented technique exhibited by his much-married best friend, but in the moment there was nothing in his head but the sensations he was experiencing. Heat, damp, suction. Long smooth strokes and fluttering, flickering teases. Jolts of pleasure like electricity firing along his nerves, short-circuiting all normal and non-essential brain activity.

As his toes curled and every muscled tightened, it was all he could do to keep the essential, hindbrain functions, like breathing, operating. He clutched at the couch and held on for dear life as Wilson's gently exploring fingers found their goal between his thighs and pressed firmly against his perineum.

"Nnngh!"

House wasn't sure, afterwards, what he'd been trying to say - if anything - when he came. But the strained sound that actually emerged must have amused Wilson, who he now found grinning down at him again, looking far more smug than the newly seduced had any right to. Especially when kneeling on the floor with an erection you could use to propel a gondola. It shouldn't be humanly possible to appear smug in that position.

And as soon as he got the feeling back in his extremities, he intended to demonstrate why, exactly, _he_ should be the one looking smug at this point in time.

To hell with finesse and subtlety, House decided, he'd spent all day being subtle and gotten mocked for his efforts. Time to go with simple and straightforward.

In a few quick moves he had Wilson's fly undone and had worked a hand into his pants. The gasp that action prompted - and the disappearance of the smug grin - did a lot to placate his ego. And he wasn't going to disregard the influence it had on his libido, either.

Ignoring the awkward angle and the constraining fabric, House took a firm hold of Wilson's cock, flexed his fingers once or twice - just to hear that gasp again - and got to work. The pace he set was slow at first, but he soon sped up as Wilson's hips bucked towards him, urgently, desperately.

He watched Wilson's face contort, enjoying the play of emotions that coursed across the youthful features. Sweat-matted brown hair flopped messily over Wilson's forehead, not quite long enough to hide his tightly closed eyes. As he watched Wilson bite his lip, clearly getting close, House barked a hoarse-voiced order.

"Look at me."

Wilson's eyes flew open to stare at him, warm brown meeting ice blue, and then Wilson was shuddering, crying out with half-formed sounds and almost-words as he came.

Extracting his hand with grace from Wilson's pants proved impossible, but House didn't care, wiping his hand casually on the tails of Wilson's shirt while Wilson was too overcome to really notice. He'd pay for that later, he was sure, but for now Wilson was slumped beside the couch, his head resting on the flat plane of House's hip bone. The sight was oddly affecting, almost sweet, and House found himself running shaking fingers through the soft hair, and wondering about the funny warm feeling in his stomach.

Wilson looked up at him with a smile, not smug this time, but genuine and just for him, and the warm feeling started spreading out through the rest of his body. He tried to cover his confusion with the familiarity of their normal banter.

"I knew I was right, I'm always right. I knew I had you worked out."

With a little snort, Wilson aimed a half-hearted slap at his arm.

"Yeah, sure,' he grumbled, not really annoyed, 'Eventually."

"Better always right eventually than only being right sometimes."

It wasn't a deeply compelling argument, but as House lay on the couch with his best friend by his side, he decided it wasn't worth pressing the point. It was enough that he'd been right, after all. He had his evidence. And maybe a whole lot more, he thought, considering their current situation. James loved him, and, maybe he loved James, too.

But that was a thought to be considered later. Right now he just had to work up the energy to stand up, and take Wilson into the bedroom. After a bit of a rest, they should be fine - even if that meant waiting till the next morning, as the tired little voice in his brain was suggesting - and he still had all those things he'd read about on the internet to try out.


End file.
